


truss you up in your sunday best

by nevershootamockingbird



Category: UnDeadwood (Web Series)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, PWP, Shibari, UnDeadwood Mini-series (Critical Role)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 11:22:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21898294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevershootamockingbird/pseuds/nevershootamockingbird
Summary: “How’re you feelin’, handsome?” The words are pressed into his skin, lips dragging along his shoulder, and arousal slides does his spine like syrup, slow and warm. He feels Clayton’s mouth curve up into a smile, clever fingers finishing another knot along his bound arms, and Matthew nods slowly.He's not beyond words just yet, but it's a near thing.
Relationships: Reverend Matthew Mason/Clayton Sharpe
Comments: 14
Kudos: 64
Collections: Yee-Hawligays Undeadwood Fic Exchange





	truss you up in your sunday best

**Author's Note:**

> Part of an UnDeadwood discord fic exchange! The person's prompt I got was for Clayson, and I know my prompter has a propensity for shibari, so I figured I'd try to combine the two. 
> 
> I enjoyed writing this a lot. Hope you like it, too!
> 
> Matthew is used to submitting to a higher will than his own. This is no different, not really, not at all.

“How’re you feelin’, handsome?” The words are pressed into his skin, lips dragging along his shoulder, and arousal slides does his spine like syrup, slow and warm. He feels Clayton’s mouth curve up into a smile, clever fingers finishing another knot along his bound arms, and Matthew nods slowly.

He's not beyond words just yet, but it's a near thing. 

“Good, ‘m good,” he manages after a moment, and Clayton lets out a low sound of approval, lifting his head to kiss the bolt of Matthew’s jaw. His eyes flutter at the gentle affection, and he relaxes further, feels the ropes and knots criss-crossing over his body press more firmly against his skin. 

A single finger trails down his spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Matthew shudders, and Clayton shifts behind him, the heat of his body moving away. “Pretty as a picture, Matty.”

The words send a flush down his neck, his chest; he lets his head drop forward, feels the loop around his neck tug gently as he does, not restrictive, just  _ there _ , comforting and secure. He’s safe, here in their room, on their bed, tied up and bound and unable to move. 

With Clayton, he’s safe. 

The thought has him shuddering again, and then Clayton’s chest is pressing up against his back, hot breath rolling over his neck as hands settle at his waist. “Beautiful. Gonna let me take care of you?”

“Please,” is the only word he can manage, mind already starting to drift. Clayton hums behind him, content and soothing, hands sliding around to trace along the ropes that decorate his stomach, his sides, his chest. Matthew moans quietly when his fingers graze along skin, sensitive already from the time spent getting him all trussed up, and Clayton shushes him gently, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. 

“I’ve got you, darlin’,” murmured against his skin, hands pressing firm to his chest before pulling away completely. There’s shifting behind him, Clayton’s heat moving away a bit, before one hand curls back around his hip, squeezing firm. “Gonna take care of you, I promise.”

Any response he might have managed dies on his lips when oil-slick fingers nudge gently at his hole. His body yields easily, submits as he has been doing all night, submitting his will to Clayton’s just as he submits his will to God’s. One finger presses into him easy, thrusting slowly, and Matthew lets his eyes fall shut, low heat simmering in his gut. 

That single finger becomes two, then three, filling him up and stretching him wide, coaxing a litany of moans and whimpers from him. Clayton keeps him grounded with a tight hold on his hip, mouth pressing kisses and praise to his shoulders, his neck, the soft skin just behind his ears. 

“Beautiful,” and Matthew believes him, feels tears stinging at his eyes, clenches and flexes his hands just to feel the ropes dig in further.

“Kind,” and he lets out a moan that cracks into a sob as fingers rub over his prostate, blinking damp lashes open. Clayton keeps rubbing steadily, gentle pressure, stoking the heat in his gut into something molten and heavy. 

“Clever,” and the hand on his hip drags around, palming the messy head of his cock before sliding up up up his chest. Matthew sobs again, tears finally spilling down his cheeks, and Clayton groans quietly, tongue flicking out against the nape of his neck. 

“ _ Good _ ,” punctuated with a bite that will bruise above his collar, and Matthew tenses, crying in earnest now, body stock still. Clayton thrusts his fingers one, two, three more times, and then his other hand closes around the rope looped around Matthew’s neck, tugging gently, and he’s gone, keening brokenly as he comes and comes and comes. 

Clayton works him through it, thrusting his fingers steadily and hooking his chin over Matthew’s shoulder, watching as his seed makes a mess of his own chest, the ropes, the bed below him. He doesn’t stop until Matthew’s shaking all over, fine tremors running through his body, and then Clayton relents, shushing him gently as he stills his fingers, free hand coming up to stroke through his sweaty hair. 

The room is silent save for his quiet sobs and whimpers.

“Easy, baby, I got you,” Clayton murmurs, brushing a soft kiss to his shoulder. “Gonna pull my fingers out now, alright?”

He waits for Matthew to nod before beginning to ease them out, humming low and soothing as he does, free hand still combing through Matthew’s hair. His knees are growing stiff, shoulders beginning to ache, but he says nothing, can say nothing; Clayton knows, anyway. 

He always knows what Matthew needs. 

The ropes come away slow but easy, intricate knots undone one by one, until everything unravels and falls away from his body; Clayton takes him firmly in hand, guides him down onto his side on the dry half of the bed. His limbs feel loose and heavy, mind gone hazy and soft, tears finally dried up. He twitches a hand out towards Clayton, and his partner takes hold of it carefully, presses a gentle kiss to his knuckles, the marks on his wrist, lips curved into a smile. “Just a moment, sweetheart.”

He grumbles when Clayton moves away, but the other man stays in his line of sight, grabbing a bowl of water and a rag before coming back over, gently wiping the seed from his body, the oil from between his legs, his ass, so careful in his ministrations that a lump forms in the back of Matthew’s throat. His chest aches. 

“Better hope your sleeves don’t move durin’ your sermon tomorrow mornin’,” Clayton says, smile curving at his lips, and Matthew huffs a quiet laugh, shrugging one of his shoulders. His partner nods, running a hand over his head gently before moving away, always keeping well within his view as he sets about dumping the water, tossing the cloth in their hamper. “Alright, jus’ wanted to warn you. Those marks’lll keep for a while.”

“Good,” and his voice is cracked, hoarse, barely more than a whisper, but Clayton still sends him a look, eyes gone soft. Matthew reaches a hand out, world going blurred at the edges, and Clayton comes back to him immediately, coaxing him under the sheets before sliding under with him, tossing the comforter off and rearranging them until Matthew is tucked against his chest, ear over his heart. 

Fingers slide through his hair, and Matthew settles, scratching gently through the hair on Clayton’s stomach. There’s a content hum above him, and then the gentle pressure and scrape of Clatyon’s mustache against his hair as he presses kisses to his scalp. “Rest, Matty. Ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Words are lost to him again, but he nudges his hand down a little further, fingers just barely brushing against the thatch of hair leading down towards his cock. No pressure, just a question, an offer. 

“No, baby, but thank you,” Clayton murmurs, wrapping his other arm around Matthew’s shoulders. He slides his hand back up, eyes finally sliding shut as he relaxes entirely. A low, pleased chuckle vibrates through his partner’s chest, makes affection blossom and bloom behind his breastbone. “Sleep, sweetheart. We got all the time in the world.”

They do. They do. 

Matthew sleeps, and when he dreams, there is no dealer. There is a gentle calm, and there is Clayton, and there is his family. 

Matthew sleeps, and knows peace. His faith does not falter.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I really did love writing this, I hope you enjoyed reading even half as much. Tried to keep the characterization as true as I possibly could.
> 
> Title is from "Wait for Me" from Hadestown, because I love the song and I'm a sucker for a title that's a little tongue in cheek about the content of the story. 
> 
> Thank you again for reading! You can find me over on [tumblr](https://nevershootamockingbird.tumblr.com) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/daleytwin1) if you feel like yelling with me about these characters, this show, or, you know, anything else!


End file.
